


don't you dare look back (just keep your eyes on me)

by craigtherewhoisahomosexual (Ashtarok)



Category: South Park
Genre: ALSO THEY ARE IN HIGHSCHOOL, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, BUT SENIORS, Dumbasses galore, EVERYBODY 18-19 its all GUCCI OK, M/M, Marijuana, Mostly clyde, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Porn Watching, Recreational Drug Use, Roughhousing, Slow Burn, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wet Dream, all the unresolved tensions, an absurd amount of sexual references poor clyde im a mean writer, boys will b boys, cock compliments, no homo is strong, true bro culture, uhmmmmmm slow-ish just bc clyde's dense as i am
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 08:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14375430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtarok/pseuds/craigtherewhoisahomosexual
Summary: fellas, is it gay to want one of your best friends to raw you?no, right?... right?





	don't you dare look back (just keep your eyes on me)

**Author's Note:**

> this wasn't supposed to be posted until i'm done but i need somebody to fucking kick my ass and tell me to finish this. bls.  
> the title is from shut up and dance- walk the moon but won't make ANY sense until the next part. it's gonna be a long one, lads, buckle up

“Yeah, dude, it can feel  _ amazing  _ to have something up your ass,” Kenny said reassuringly, meeting Clyde’s eyes from across the mattress. They were semi-close to each other, sat lengthwise on the bed in Clyde’s bedroom, still a few feet apart but near enough Clyde could feel every slight shift of Kenny’s body. It was fairly dark, mostly lit by a small nightstand light and the screen of his laptop, which was pulled up to xtube and displaying a dude getting pegged by his girlfriend as he rubbed her tits and moaned loudly. 

“... Really?” Clyde couldn’t help but repeat dubiously, gaze darting back to the screen for a moment. “I mean. I know, I guess? Because of Craig, but. Isn’t that usually just for gay guys?” he asked tentatively, rubbing at his thighs and feeling glad he hadn’t actually gotten his dick out yet. Kenny snorted, shaking his head, and Clyde sheepishly bit his bottom lip as he looked at him.

“Nah, it’s for all dudes,” Kenny said with a shrug. “Every male body has a prostate, yeah? And that’s the g-spot for us. You really didn’t know that?” 

“I’ve… I’ve pretty much exclusively just played with my dick,” Clyde answered, suddenly feeling almost embarrassingly inexperienced. “Fairly standard masturbation as far as I’m aware. I know  _ of  _ the prostate, but I can’t say I’ve ever been acquainted with the inside of my ass, no. Mostly just secondhand accounts that I really didn’t want to hear in the first place.” Thanks Tweek. 

“You’re missing out,” Kenny told him, flashing a grin that glinted almost blue in the unnatural light of the laptop. “Doesn’t matter your sexual orientation, you should give some self love to your prostate, dude.” Clyde could only stare speechlessly for a moment, cheeks heating up. He was endlessly glad for the darkness, then, fervently grateful his blush wouldn’t be seen.

“I’ve never had the urge to finger my asshole, Ken,” he bit out, picking at a loose string on his covers and huffing, unable to meet Kenny’s eyes. “Even just  _ this,”  _ a brief gesture between the two of them, the porn, how their pants were undone, (how he, at least, had a boner) and how they’d agreed to jack off beside each other, “is a lot for me. The closest I’ve come to doing this is accidentally walking in on Craig, okay? And I’d really, just. Prefer not to see that ever again.” 

“You haven’t been even the slightest bit curious?” Kenny couldn’t help but press, scooting a bit closer as Clyde watched with the wariness of a deer frozen by headlights on a highway. 

“Uh— not, uh. Not really? Just touching my dick feels pretty good,” Clyde finally managed to grit out, quickly turning his attention back to the porn. “Can’t we just drop it and fucking jerk off already?” he asked the laptop, who had no reply besides the lady on screen adjusting herself to pound her boyfriend harder. 

“Yeah,” Kenny agreed easily, “no problem, sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I guess I was just surprised.” He shifted again and Clyde barely resisted the urge to look as he felt Kenny’s body heat begin to seep towards him, his breathing steady and surprisingly close. Clyde refused to face him, instead squaring his jaw and determinedly yanking his briefs down like he had a point to prove. He was almost proud of himself for it, feeling his cock immediately spring up. No, he hadn’t fingerfucked himself like,  _ apparently,  _ everybody had, but he got his dick out first. So.

“Holy shit,” Kenny muttered and Clyde almost glanced over on principle. He was glad he resisted the urge when the next words out of Kenny’s mouth were: “You’re thick as fuck, Jesus Christ, I’m impressed.”

“Um,” Clyde said, absolutely out of his element with what to do when your buddy complimented your fucking penis. “Thanks?” Flustered beyond belief, he huffed and quickly focused in on the porn, desperately trying to ignore Kenny as he heard him fumble with his own underwear. “Just. Shut up and jack it.” Please, he added silently, completely uncertain how to handle anything else off script for how he’d imagined this would go. 

“You got it,” Kenny sighed. Clyde ignored him, not even paying attention to whatever was fucking happening on screen; at this point, he just wanted to come as soon as possible and get this surreal encounter done and over with. He wrapped a tentative hand around his shaft and got to work, going right for all the things he knew usually got him riled up. Thumbing the tip, keeping it a bit dry so the drag was good, and tightening on the upstroke mercifully did the trick, and Clyde almost managed to just enjoy himself for a few minutes. 

Of course, that’s when Kenny started making…  _ noises.  _

“Mmm,” came a low rumble from his left. Clyde squeezed his eyes shut as his rhythm faltered in surprise. Why, why him? What had he done to deserve this? He was  _ sharing  _ porn like a fucking sex saint. A breathy “ah,” was next. Clyde fixed his grip and determinedly kept stroking, fixing his eyes so hard on his laptop he could barely see. The noises continued, and he could hardly hear the fake, ecstatic moaning anymore, instead cheeks turning bright red at the very  _ real  _ and very masculine groaning beside him instead. 

Even worse, the couple on screen were starting to finish up, and Clyde knew with absolute certainty both himself and Kenny were in too far to stop and click another video. He swallowed thickly, holding in his own whine as he tightened his hold and started fucking his fist a bit. The slick, intimate sounds of a hand working a cock seemed  _ so  _ loud in the room, probably because there were two of them. Kenny was still going too, but getting close, if Clyde had to hazard a guess: his breathing was near to a pant at this point, and his noises had gotten more guttural and desperate. Clyde was mortified he’d heard enough to know the difference. 

Clyde shut his eyes tightly, practically chewing a hole in his bottom lip as he struggled not to make a sound. The pit of his stomach was tight and hot and he shivered, breath catching as his hips twitched a few times, humping into his fist as he was unable to help a slight huff from deep in his chest. Kenny made an answering noise in reply, a low growl that made him shudder helplessly, dick twitching and blurting out a nice spurt of pre-cum. That had nothing to do with Kenny, Clyde reassured himself, then gasped as he came, the coil in his belly snapping and releasing. He couldn’t stop the noises that escaped him as he glazed his knuckles with cum, sticky and hot, stroking a few more times and whining at the sensitivity.

Beside him, there was another thick groan, and the bed shuddered and heaved. Clyde very much so did not look over, but he was about 99% sure Kenny had come as well. The video was over, the screen blank from going into sleep mode, and Clyde flushed, quickly fumbling for the tissues. 

“Uh, that was cool,” Clyde lied, grabbing a fistful and dabbing at his hand frantically as he half threw the box at Kenny next, still refusing to look. 

“Thanks for letting me steal your WiFi and room for a bit,” Kenny hummed. Jesus Christ, his voice got deep when he was aroused. He wasn’t used to it, Kenny’s usual pitch fairly high. Not thinking, Clyde looked up to answer, then quickly shut his mouth, blushing all over again as he abruptly looked away.

It’d only been a few seconds, but it’d been long enough. Heavy-lidded eyes, lazy smile, hair in his face, jeans open and tugged down around his thighs, with his slowly-softening cock resting against his cum-messy belly. Clyde legitimately feared he might just erupt into flames and combust for a moment. 

“Your dick’s pretty.” Oh fucking  _ hell,  _ had he said that? The surprised snort from Kenny answered him. Shit. 

“That’s a new one. Thank you. We can’t all be fucking beer cans,” Kenny chuckled. Clyde couldn’t answer; he was fairly damn sure he was dying inside, his soul literally ascending. 

“Yeah,” he finally managed to gasp, pulling his briefs back up and hurriedly buttoning his jeans with fumbling, shaky fingers. “Uh, feel free to take five, I’m thirsty, d’you want anything to drink?” Clyde asked, hopping up and heading for the door before Kenny even answered.

“Mountain Dew, thanks! I’m gonna use your bathroom, okay?”

“Sure!” Clyde yelled from the hallway, booking it downstairs to immediately go to the sink, turn it on cold as it could go, and shove his face under the freezing stream. Water got up his nose and he sputtered, pulling back and coughing raucously as he sneezed and started wiping at his face frantically with his shirt. “Jefuff chriff,” he gasped into the fabric, sneezing again before finally feeling like he could breathe again. His shirt was soaking and he’d managed to get his bangs wet too. And his hand still reeked off his own cum. Lovely. 

Miserable, Clyde quickly washed his hands properly and then stripped off his sodden shirt, leaving it on the washing machine. He grabbed two cans of soda from the fridge and headed upstairs, shivering and grumbling at the cold aluminum. He got goosebumps and his nipples hardened, and he was so distracted by the ghost of the water he could still feel in his throat that he didn’t even think of potential implications about walking in shirtless to Kenny sprawled on his bed, freshly-wanked off and satisfied. 

“Uh,” Clyde summed up eloquently,  _ chucking  _ one of the cans at Kenny and cringing as it full-on slammed into his chest. 

“Ow! Jesus! Clyde!” Kenny yelped, rubbing the spot and scrambling to grab the can. “What the fuck, dude?!”

“Sorry!” Clyde yelled back, defensive and clumsy and fucking stupid as hell after coming. “Oh my god, I swear I didn’t mean to do that. Uh. It slipped.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to shout,” Kenny noted in amusement, stretching out languidly on Clyde’s mattress as he watched nervously, stood to the side with his arms crossed self-consciously over his nipples. Kenny grinned at him and Clyde cleared his throat, shifting his weight from side to side. “Did you have a nice orgasm?”

“It… it was just fine,” Clyde answered, bewildered. “Thank you,” he added compulsively. “Yours?”

“Really nice, actually. Haven’t had very good data lately so no porn for Kenny,” he said, sighing heavily and yawning. “You wouldn’t mind if I napped here for a bit, would you?”

Actually, I’d mind a hell of a lot. “No, that’s totally fine, dude, you know you’re always welcome to crash here,” Clyde assured him, quickly dipping into his clean laundry bin and yanking on the first shirt his fingertips touched. It was, unfortunately, one of Craig’s. Blinking down at the  _ Real Men Eat Ass  _ now emblazoned on his chest, Clyde decided he was finally done. Changing would look even more suspicious. He sauntered towards the bed, trying not to show it off. Clyde breathed a sigh of relief as he joined Kenny on the bed, nudging him over and grumbling. 

They lay in silence for a solid ten minutes. Clyde actually felt himself start to drift off, sleepy after his orgasm like all teenage boys were. His eyes had just shut when he felt Kenny stir, opening his soda and taking a swig before setting it on the bedside table. 

“Nice shirt,” Kenny remarked. “I told you assplay was normal. I’m glad Craig can appreciate it, what a connoisseur!” Clyde groaned, long and low and humiliated, and rolled over.

“Shut up and take a nap, or I’ll kick you out right now,” he threatened, cheeks hot as he hid his face in his pillow. Kenny giggled and patted his shoulder.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m just teasing. But fine, I’ll behave.” Clyde muttered nothing in particular and settled down more comfortably. This time, they actually managed to drift off. 

It was even normal when they finally woke up, too. Clyde invited him to stay for dinner and everything, they managed to eat three entire frozen pizzas between them, he gave Kenny another one to go for Karen, and then he walked him to the door like usual. It was all perfectly normal, in fact, until he went to bed later that night, settled down to sleep, and was abruptly overwhelmed with the smell of jizz.

“What the fuck?” Clyde cursed, slapping on his light and immediately groaning as he pulled a wad of used tissues out of his pillowcase. Kenny had even found time to draw a haphazard winky face on one of the sheets. “Seriously? Fuck you!” He threw them away and washed his hands twice before getting back into bed and texting Kenny a middle finger emoji. He got back an angel one and another wink. Asshole. Grumpy but now reassured that was it for weirdness for this day, at least, Clyde finally fell asleep. 

Of course, that was when his dreams decided to betray him. 

—

That’s how Clyde found himself up at 4 am googling frantically for ‘gay sex dream about my friend’ that Friday. Every. Every single night the past week, he’d had a sex dream involving a guy. He’d woken hard and confused to his alarm every morning. Since that apparently wasn’t weird enough,  _ this  _ morning, at 3 am, it’d been a very detailed, intimate, gay experience with Kenny, and he’d jerked awake mid-orgasm with a groan and the phantom feel of dick making him clench his ass.

So now, here he was, freshly-showered, still panicky, googling his confused, little heart out. 

The results were not particularly reassuring to him, either. Lots of stuff about being open to a more fluid sexuality than previously thought, and even the ones that said it was just misplaced affection didn’t seem to particularly fit him since he’d had a week’s worth of the same explicit scenario. Clyde was like… pretty certain getting rawed until he sobbed in his dream had nothing to do with mere appreciation of a good friend. Which, well, sucked.

He ended upon a fucking Wikihow article titled  _ How to Know if You Are Gay.  _ The first bit mentioned how fantasies didn’t necessarily mean anything and Clyde actually felt marginally better until realizing coming the hardest he could ever remember to the imagined feel of a cock pounding him was probably not super straight. Damn. He kept reading, his worry deepening by the paragraph, until he finally clicked away, chewing his bottom lip and huffing. He rubbed his eyes and forcibly shoved all sexuality questioning from his brain. 

“Kenny said every guy wants their ass played with,” Clyde rationalized to himself, audibly, at 5am as he stared at the ceiling. “What this really means is I just need… to play with my ass.” Fantastic, absolutely stellar news. “Straight guys like their prostates messed with. It’s fine.” He sighed again, heavy and slow, then tentatively pulled out his phone again. 

Clyde more than understood the concept of fingering. He’d been with a couple girls this year, and Craig’s constant, obscene knowledge drops were eye-opening, but the thought of his  _ own  _ ass, and fingers… well. Well. That was an entirely new equation to him. Finally, he typed in “fingering your own ass” and stared at the results with a lump in his throat. Clyde clicked the first link and started reading with trepidation. As soon as he read the words ‘chocolate starfish’ he immediately clicked his phone off and set it on the side table, groaning. Jesus Christ. 

After fidgeting for five minutes, he gave in and picked his phone back up, finding a more trustworthy-looking result and clicking with bated breath. Clyde read through the article and didn’t really learn anything he didn’t already know, but he actually did feel better nonetheless. He found himself aimlessly scrolling through social media until he felt more normal and managed to nod off by 6, sleeping in until noon like the typical lazy shithead kid he was. He woke up to a few texts, but the ones that immediately caught his attention were from Kenny.

_ King Kink <3: thanks for sat, i got ahold of some of weed if ur interested?? i can meet you at stark’s and we can get lit B)  _

Absolutely mortified at the once (he couldn’t use innocent, shit) harmless joke that now had slight implications he had no desire to examine, Clyde swiftly changed his contact name to a simple  _ Kenny. _ Then he answered affirmatively. Maybe getting high would relieve some of this anxiety and embarrassment that had been pooling like thick sludge in his stomach. He took a quick shower, not even daring to wash his asscrack like normal; god, he was jumpy. After hurriedly dressing, Clyde let his dad know he was going out and hopped into his beat-up Jeep to go meet Kenny at Stark’s Pond. 

Kenny was already there: he was almost always the early one when they were hanging out. He was sprawled out on a tree, parka pulled up and already smoking a bowl about as non-discreetly as possible. Clyde parked and hopped out, shaking his head and heading over with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He stopped beside him and gestured towards their usual bench, sitting down and pulling out his Nintendo Switch. Kenny traded him the pipe for the machine and Clyde didn’t even think twice as he reached into Kenny’s pocket to grab his lighter.

It wasn’t until a few seconds after, flicking it on and relighting the end of the pipe that Clyde realized he’d stuck his hand a few inches away from Kenny’s dick and hadn’t flinched. His face flushed and he inhaled too hard by accident, coughing immediately as smoke filled his lungs and he started choking a bit. 

“Smooth,” Kenny told him, already focused in on the game he was playing. “Lost your touch, huh? Can’t handle a hit anymore?” he teased playfully, looking up briefly to flash a loose, friendly smile. He was definitely already feeling the high, and high Kenny was the most easygoing, relaxed, and goofy person alive. Clyde coughed a few more times then finally managed to start breathing again, wheezing quietly.

“Just inhaled wrong,” he rasped, shaking his head and carefully taking another, smoother hit. Clyde heaved a heavy sigh, exhaling a bunch of smoke and then slumping slightly. It  _ had  _ been awhile; Kenny hadn’t been able to reach his supplier for a couple weeks. This was nice, minus the choking. He took a final puff and then emptied the cache of ash, slipping the pipe into his own pocket and leaning back against the bark of a tree. Clyde just chilled for a bit, zoning as he listened to the upbeat theme music and soft huffs of laughter coming from Kenny fucking around on the Switch.

“It’s weird,” Clyde found himself saying, sitting up and shifting a bit awkwardly, possessed to speak and feeling a lot more open and loose now that he was stoned. 

“Hmmm?” came Kenny’s noncommittal questioning noise.

“Last night I had a dream we fucked,” Clyde said conversationally, snorting quietly at himself. “Pretty fucking weird, right?” He expected some laughter, a few jabs at his sexuality, maybe a shit-eating grin. Literally anything, really, than what he got.

“Well?” 

Clyde blinked, stunned by this question and more than a bit confused as he looked over at Kenny, who was still engrossed in his game.

“... Well, what?” he asked, bewildered. There wasn’t supposed to be another question as an answer to his own question. Kenny finally looked up and away from the screen, dark eyes focusing in on Clyde as he hummed.

“How was it then? Did I fuck you? Yeah? Cool. Did it feel good? Was it like, a slow, tender fuck, or were you getting destroyed doggystyle?” He tilted his head slightly and Clyde’s heart fell into his ass. “Did you enjoy yourself? Did you come? Did I have to give you a reacharound or was I doing it just right and you came all over yourself with just my cock?” Kenny asked, one after the other but not fast-paced at all, more just gentle, flowing questions that turned Clyde’s head inside out. Then he looked right back at his game like he hadn’t flipped the world topsy-turvy.

“Uh?” Clyde squeaked, cheeks heating up as he stared at Kenny’s hood incredulously. His flush only darkened as snippets of his incredibly  _ detailed  _ dream came back to him, of a strong, wiry form pressing him into his mattress, calloused hands spreading his thighs and touching between with knowing fingers, getting him open and sliding in a thick, hard cock, fucking him good and rough until he was begging incomprehensibly. Clyde made a cut-off choking sound, eyes wide and pupils blown as he fidgeted nervously, rubbing the back of his neck in utter mortification. “ _ Dude.” _

“What?” Kenny yawned, tapping at the buttons with a little frown of concentration. “Shit, was dream me bad in bed? Disappointing but thankfully unrealistic. I assure you I very rarely need to offer my hand for assistance,” he said, idly crossing his legs and bending down to get a better look at his screen. Clyde was still busy choking on his own tongue.

“Uh,” he finally grit out, hands shaking as he fumbled with the pipe and then wilted, remembering he’d have to pack a whole new bowl. “It was, uh. Fine.” Clyde was desperate for a distraction but couldn’t seem to think of anything except his sex dream now. Looking at Kenny made everything so many times worse, especially when he glanced up again and they locked eyes.

“Just fine?” Kenny teased. “I almost feel like I have to defend my honor here,” he snorted, smirking. Clyde shook his head, eyes huge and terrified.

“Really, that’s, no— um, not necessary. It was just a stupid dream, I barely remember it,” Clyde lied. “Barely at all, really.” Kenny  _ pouted.  _ Fuck’s sake.

“That’s dumb! It wasn’t a very good dream then, I’m sorry my imaginary self was such a shitty partner,” Kenny snorted. Clyde blinked slowly and, still lax from being stoned, blurted out nothing but truth.

“It was good, I woke up covered in my own cum. It was everywhere, I haven’t had such a mess to clean since I was a stupid thirteen year old.” His eyes widened at his own words, Clyde’s face turning tomato red. “Uh.” Kenny even looked surprised for a moment and Clyde wanted to die. Just. Get himself smote right off the earth.

“Damn,” Kenny whistled. “Well now I’m almost jealous.” He patted Clyde’s thigh comfortingly, as Clyde struggled not to jump away and hyperventilate, then turned his attention wholly back to his game. “I’m glad you had a good nut, dude.” Clyde waited with bated breath for more, muscles tense and mind yelling gibberish— but Kenny was apparently unaffected, blaíse even, about it. Clyde envied (and sort of hated) him for it.

They say in companionable silence for a good ten minutes before Clyde felt himself able to relax properly. He felt a bit lighter, too, admittedly. Clyde hated secrets, keeping things hidden. They weighed on his chest, heavy and uncomfortable, and it was so much easier to just be honest, most of the time. He sighed heavily and handed Kenny his lighter back. 

“I should get going soon, Dad’s excited about some new dinner he’s making… did you wanna join us?” Clyde asked him. Kenny looked up, finally turning off the Switch as a soft, easy smile crinkled his cheeks, popping his dimple out. 

“I’d love to. Mr. Donovan has the best recipes,” he hummed, handing the electronic back to Clyde to stick in his bag. “What’s the special for tonight anyway?”

“Some sort of pasta, he bought capers and he was raving about them,” Clyde snorted, standing up and offering Kenny a hand without thinking. Kenny accepted, hauling himself upright and squeezing Clyde’s hand for a moment. Then he let go. Clyde felt a bit spooked, but he said nothing, just started walking back to his car. 

“Are you good to drive?” Kenny checked, raising a brow at the slightly dazed look on Clyde’s face. Clyde shook his head of his thoughts like a wet dog then assured him he was just fine, slipping into the driver’s seat and starting the Jeep up. 

“Just thinking,” he said, tapping the steering wheel a few times as Kenny buckled. “I’m good.” Clyde cranked up the radio and couldn’t help but grin as Kenny immediately started singing along as off-key and obnoxiously as he possibly could. By the time he was pulling into his driveway, Clyde had joined in with Kenny’s wailing, purposefully bad falsetto rendition of  _ Bad Romance.  _

They were grinning at each other like damn fools as they piled out of the car and Clyde couldn’t resist shoulder-bumping Kenny and wrapping him in a one-armed hug, barely restraining the urge to ruffle his hair and piss him off royally. Kenny got him back by head-butting his jaw so hard it cracked and then ripping free of his arms with a maniacal cackle. 

“You’re such an asshole,” Clyde swore, cradling his face with a grunt. “You’re lucky your hard head didn’t break my fucking jaw.” Kenny stuck his tongue out and flipped him off as he walked backwards towards the door. Unfortunately, he stepped on his own loose shoelace and ate pavement, which had Clyde bent double and laughing so hard he almost cried. Kenny kicked his legs out from under him, and suddenly they were both sprawled onto the ground, a bit bruised and battered.

“Aw, fuck you,” Clyde hissed, putting a hand up to try and stop the blood trickling out of his busted nose. Kenny grinned back with newly-chipped tooth and a huge scrape on his cheek. “Goddamn it, Ken, we look like we got into an actual fight instead of losing against gravity. Weak,” he whined, unable to help his little pout. Kenny leaned over, getting all up in his space, and Clyde froze, eyes wide. Kenny carefully pressed the sleeve of his parka to his bloody nose, wiping some of the hot liquid off his face with a faint, sheepish grimace.

“Sorry, bud. Guess I got a little carried away,” Kenny shrugged, withdrawing as Clyde blinked at him a bit dumbly. “If it makes you feel any better my jeans probably look like I’ve been deepthroating cock on my knees for hours; they’re so scraped they’ll never be the same.” After briefly choking at his choice of words, Clyde carefully turned to the side and spit out a nice mouthful of bloody snot. Fucking nasty.

Kenny stood up first, on only marginally shaky legs, and immediately grabbed Clyde’s arm and hoisted him up, giving him a shoulder clap and gripping his elbow before pushing him lightly towards the front door of his house. Clyde took the hint and fumbled his key out of the hidden spot on the top of the shutter, unlocking the door before they both spilled into the foyer looking a little worse for wear.

“C’mon, my room,” Clyde mumbled, voice a bit stuffy because of his nose. “I’ll grab the first aid kit before Dad sees us and has a fucking stroke.” His father could be really overprotective after what happened with his mom. Clyde couldn’t blame him, truthfully. “Just go up and sit on my bed, I need a towel or something.” He busied himself with grabbing the much-needed supplies for their impromptu doctoring as Kenny tromped upstairs. Clyde returned to his room shortly, dumping his collected items on the bed and glancing up as Kenny came out of his bathroom. 

He wasn’t. Wearing pants. For some reason.

“Uh?” Clyde enunciated intelligently. 

“Sorry, my jeans are completely fucked,” Kenny sighed mournfully. “They gotta be trashed. It pulled a few important threads and they’re falling apart in the thighs.” He didn’t look very pleased by this, tugging his hood shut as much as he could before sitting on the mattress grumpily, immediately drawing his legs up to hug his knees to his chest. He looked a bit ridiculous, truth be told, sulking in his underwear and bright orange parka. Clyde sat on the bed beside him, automatically grabbing his ankle as Kenny looked at him in surprise, eyes glittering.

“I’ve got a pair you can have,” Clyde said, stretching Kenny’s lean legs out into his lap before rummaging in the kit to grab some peroxide and cotton balls. He knew why Kenny was so upset: money was tight in the McCormick household, always had been, and money for new jeans was much better spent on groceries. “They’re an old pair before I bulked up before football.” Clyde couldn’t bring himself to say ‘before I got fatter’. He was surprisingly self-conscious about his belly. He knew he had muscles, but. Clyde knew he also had a thick, soft gut.

“Yeah? Ah! Shit!” Kenny hissed, flinching as Clyde dabbed the stinging liquid on his bloody, scraped-up knees, rubbing as much grit out as he could as he did so. “... That’s nice of you. Thanks. I appr— mother _ fucker,”  _ he growled, as Clyde rubbed in some antibiotic ointment next, getting into the raw skin. “Are you nearly done?” he groaned, and Clyde snorted as he slapped a big bandage on each knee. 

“Lemme get your face real quick, then I can fix up mine,” Clyde huffed, pulling Kenny closer and grabbing him by the jaw so he could dab peroxide on his scraped cheek. Kenny waited patiently, a nose crinkle being the only thing that gave away his discomfort. Clyde gently smeared some gel on the cuts, then unpeeled another bandage and stuck it over his wound. “There you go,” he noted in satisfaction. “All better.” He released his jaw and started to withdraw, but Kenny grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze, gaze soft as he half-smiled. 

“Thanks. Now let me return the favor, yeah?” Kenny huffed, turning his attention to the medical supplies after letting go of Clyde. Clyde blinked in surprise, then hissed as there was suddenly a very cold, wet rag being pressed to his nose. Tenderly, Kenny wiped up all the dried blood that had smeared everywhere, then matter-of-factly had Clyde blow his nose into the damp washcloth. The bleeding started up again, but much more mildly, and Clyde easily pinched this one off. 

“You might have a semi-black eye?” Kenny asked him nervously, although it was definitely not a question. “You smashed your face pretty good. Damn son.” Clyde sighed in gentle exasperation, beginning to pack up the first aid kit as he tossed the towel into his laundry hamper. 

“It’s fine… but we can’t say we tripped while being idiots. Uh.” Clyde chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “We… interrupted a mugging?” he offered.

“Totally. Three guys against one old lady,” Kenny confirmed with a shit-eating grin. Clyde shook his head, smiling right back. 

“We saved her purse and her annoying, yappy anklebiter dog too,” Clyde added on and they broke up into laughter. He got up to dig around his dresser for a moment, returning with a triumphant noise brandishing the jeans he’d never actually worn. “Here, they’re yours now.” Clyde tossed them at Kenny’s head and smirked as they slapped him across the face before he could manage to grab them. “Put those on, I’m gonna put the first aid kit back.” 

Clyde busied himself with that for a moment, perking up as his dad called up at them.

“Clyde? Is Kenny with you?” 

“Yes! He’s staying for dinner,” he answered, hastily hurrying over and changing his blood-covered shirt as Kenny finished buttoning his new jeans. 

“That’s fine, it’s ready!” his father yelled from the bottom the stairs. “Come and get it while it’s hot. I think I really nailed the recipe for this picatta, Clyde.” He turned to Kenny, who was pulling his beat-up, faded pink converse back on. There was a dick, spraying cum, Clyde had drawn on the right toe himself. He gestured towards the hall and Kenny made his way out and downstairs, Clyde quickly following. 

When pressed for details about the bandage on his cheek, Kenny took a huge bite of garlic bread and mumbled something about tripping. Luckily, Mr. Donovan accepted that without a fuss, and dinner was a pretty standard affair after that. Clyde made sure to pack up a little Tupperware container for Karen, adding extra garlic bread and then handing it to Kenny as he walked him to the door. 

“You sure you don’t need a ride home, Ken?” Clyde double checked, fretting a bit. Kenny reassured him he was just fine and then quickly bent to tie his shoe before he set off.

“Thanks for dinner; Karen’s gonna be thrilled too. Mr. D?” Kenny called back into the den, where Clyde’s father had retreated to the tv with a decaf cup of coffee. 

“Yes?”

“That recipe is a  _ total  _ keeper,” Kenny stated confidently, tucking the leftovers into his parka as he zipped it up and stepped outside. “Have a good night, dude. I’ll see you in English?” he offered, referring to their first period together on Monday. Clyde reaffirmed it happily, then offered a fistbump. Kenny surprised him by grabbing his wrist instead, and gently stroking his thumb over his knuckles, briefly, sweetly, then letting him go, tugging his hood up, and strolling directly into the night. 

Clyde gaped after him in shock for a full minute before his dad called for him, and he snapped out of it and closed the door in a flustered huff. What the fuck was going on? 

—

Sunday started blessedly quiet, and Clyde actually, embarrassingly spent a solid hour googling about fucking prostates again. The curiosity seemed to get bigger and bigger with every passing day, and he was almost resigned to the fact that he wanted to… maybe, try it. Just to see what the fuss was about. He’d even resorted to texting fucking Craig about it.

_ Clyde: so i kno u lov tweek’s dick in ur ass but like why _

_ 8=•~ Thundercunt Craig: dude what the fuck _

_ Clyde: i just wanna know!!! is the prostate rlly tht good ? _

_ 8=•~ Thundercunt Craig: stfu before i block your dumb ass clyde jfc. eat shit _

So. That hadn’t been a particularly helpful resource, much to his disappointment. Clyde almost wanted to ask Kenny, even, but. The thought of that made his stomach feel a bit weird. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but the feeling was strong enough he refrained. Finally, by Sunday night, Clyde just decided he would have to man up and fucking buy some lube to try it out. Maybe, well. Maybe a butt plug or something small. Just because if he was gonna do this dumb shit, Clyde was gonna do it right, goddamn it.

He just. Had to settle this whole thing. Was a couple fingers in the butt really worth the hullabaloo or not? Clyde planned to go to the mall after school, check out Spencer’s or another adult-themed shop. Try to discreetly buy some casual things for his exploration. The mall was usually dead on Mondays, and Clyde had negative a thousand excitement about potentially being caught looking at fucking lube and dildoes or some shit by classmates. Just the thought made him shudder in horror at the no doubt social suicide that would become. 

Speaking  _ of  _ Kenny, he got a text from him too, noting very happily that Karen had fucking loved the chicken picatta and encouraging Clyde’s dad to add it to his monthly rotation of dishes. Clyde had shown his father, and a satisfied and almost smug Mr. Donovan promptly did just that. 

Sunday night went pretty typical after all that; Clyde and his dad had delivery pizza and then watched a bad movie off Netflix in the horror genre. They managed to scare themselves with it anyway and then neither wanted to turn off the hall light. That was fine. It could just stay on for a night. Clyde went to sleep feeling happy and a bit leery as well as undoubtedly excited for his week ahead. 

Unfortunately for him, Clyde woke up hard as nails and leaking profusely to his alarm, struggling to jerk himself out of his wet dream and feeling a little humiliated squirm in his belly at the acknowledgment he’d been fantasizing about getting fucked again. Frustrated, he took a freezing cold shower and grumpily threw on some clothes before grabbing a banana for breakfast and heading out for the day. He drove to school in moody silence.

His hair was thankfully almost dry by the time Clyde pulled into his usual parking spot at school, although there was still the vague, tight feeling of annoyance settled in the pit of his stomach as he thought about his wake-up. He went straight to his locker and got his things for the first few periods ready, slightly distracted and mostly working on autopilot. Clyde finished up and immediately made his way to Craig’s locker to meet up with the guys, huffing in slight exasperation as he found Token and Jimmy discussing an upcoming physics test, and Tweek and Craig busy sucking face. 

They were usually pretty classy about PDA, actually, but Craig had a bad habit of goading his boyfriend into recklessness when he was being a little shit. Clyde sighed: Craig was often a little shit. Clyde leaned back against the lockers with a bang, uncomfortably close to the intertwined couple; Tweek startled and pulled back with a ragged sound, Craig smirking as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Morning, Clyde. Care to tell the class why the fuck you were texting me about prostates last night?” Craig greeted his best friend, Tweek spinning to give him a curiously disgruntled look. Jimmy snorted, Token only staring with one eyebrow raised. 

“Listen,” Clyde started defensively. “Somebody told me that prostate play is for every man, regardless of sexuality. Were they wrong?” Kenny really wasn’t one to lie, and the thought of it being a really elaborate, weird prank was way too much effort for him too. That was much more Cartman’s style.

The group surveyed him for a moment, Clyde waiting with bated breath. Finally, Jimmy broke the silence first.

“We-Well, actu-actua-actually it’s good for you to stim-stimulate your prostate. I’ve had a few gi-girls do it to me. Feels p-pre-pretty nice, honestly,” Jimmy told him confidently, adjusting his crutches slightly. “And it can su-suppo-supposedly help with sperm pro-production or something,” he said, shrugging one shoulder and smiling at Clyde. “Even if the cl-claims are bogus, it still makes for a r-rock-rocking orgasm.”

“I’ve heard the same thing,” Token added, shrugging. “Haven’t tried it, but. Considered it. Nichole brought it up before, she said she’s cool with it.” He turned his attention back to his phone. 

“I love it,” Craig declared it firmly. “As a very much gay man, I’m all about my prostate. I think even if I was, eugh,  _ straight,” _  he paused and made an absolutely revolted face, “I’d still be all about my prostate.” He shrugged and leaned confidently back against the cool metal, smirking at Clyde.

“I’m all about Craig’s, ngh, prostate, too,” Tweek added with a little shoulder twitch of a shrug. “Although, I also enjoy playing with my own. So whoever told you it was something for any man was right. You should, mm, listen to them more, actually,” he snorted playfully. “Do good to have you actually paying attention to somebody saying shit worth knowing.”

“Shut up,” Clyde mumbled, cheeks flushing instantly in mortification. “Whatever. Okay. So it’s really not gay?” Craig  _ heaved  _ a sigh.

“Clyde, we’ve been over this once a fucking week since fourth grade. Gay is when somebody is attracted to people of their same gender, yes? That’s what gay is. The only fucking thing you could do that’s gay, at this point in time, is be attracted to a guy and anything that would result of you acting on said attraction. The way you dress, eat, talk, everything— not gay. Do you finally get it.” Craig deadpanned it. It wasn’t even a question, he’d said it fully as a statement and clearly didn’t care if he got an answer or not. “The only way fingering yourself would be gay is if it wasn’t your fingers, but a dude’s, or if you were picturing it as a man doing it to you.”

Well. Clyde shifted uneasily, thinking about his recent dreams, but quickly, forcefully shook it off. “Okay, I got it. Yeesh. Sorry we’re not all that comfortable and familiar with our prostates,” he grumbled a bit sourly. “Not all of us were up to date here.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a repressed idiot,” Craig retorted with an inelegant scoff, Tweek allowing his boyfriend to curl around him, hook his chin over his shoulder, and steal a sip of Tweek's coffee with a grimace. Tweek sighed in fond exasperation at the disgruntled noise that spilled immediately from Craig’s chest in protest.

“I don’t know why you, ah, keep doing that, babe,” Tweek scoffed. “You know I drink strong, straight black, and you still complain that some fucking lattes have too much actual coffee flavor, you, ngh, fucking pussy lightweight.”

“You know I prefer tea,” Craig pointed out stoically, Tweek shaking him off his back with a disgusted ‘eugh’. 

“Yeah, and I hate tea,” Tweek huffed, taking another sip of his coffee and sighing contentedly. 

“... Are you guys done having that argument for the fiftieth time? Yes? Cool. So just to, I dunno, double check: prostate play is a yes, no matter your sexuality?” Clyde asked again, a bit self-consciously. 

“Yeah,” Craig told him firmly, unable to help an eye roll. “You good now? Not gonna ask about favorite positions or more private information?”

“No! God, you tell me enough. I’ve  _ seen  _ enough,” Clyde said, nose wrinkling at the memory. “I didn’t even know you could fucking bend like that. I—“

“I’m gonna suggest you shut the fuck up and we move on,” Token broke in instantly, Jimmy laughing as Craig merely smirked and Tweek sighed. 

“Deal,” Clyde gave in gratefully, perking up as the bell rang, signifying they should book it to class. He had a pretty normal day after that, joining the guys at their typical lunch table and immediately observing them launch into a discussion about what they wanted this year’s prom theme to be. Prom wasn’t for another 3 months, but they’d finally put together the committee (Bebe was in charge, as per usual) and they were deciding on the theme this week. Half the group wanted something Candyland-esque, and the other half wanted masquerade. About the only thing everybody agreed on was under the sea was fucking tacky. 

“Personally, I think Candyland is cute, but everybody knows a good masquerade is where it’s at,” piped up Kenny, making Clyde jump a solid foot as he slid in beside him with a little bagged lunch and an easy smile. The table was silent in surprise for a moment; Kenny didn’t usually join them. 

“McCormick, long time, no see,” Craig snarked in greeting, but he was smirking as he flipped Kenny off. Kenny rolled his eyes and pulled a sandwich from his bag, just plain bologna and cheese, offering a shit-eating grin and friendly hum.

“Craig Tucker dick sucker, it’s been a hot minute, huh?” Kenny returned, taking a bite and shaking his head. “Everything must be good with you, I haven’t heard your nasal bitching in awhile.”

“Yeah. Things are good when my boyfriend’s happy and Stan, Cartman, and Kyle keep far fucking away from us,” Craig drawled, drawing a dick in ketchup on his tray. Tweek shoved his shoulder with a grumble.

“I wish you wouldn’t, ah, antagonize them. They’re really nice, you’re just an asshole who holds almost decade long grudges. Get over Peru,” Tweek groaned, grumbling softly. “God, you’re like a dog, ngh, with a very small, pointy bone you’ve been gnawing for years.” 

“They took my money and—“

“No-Nob-Nobody cares,” Jimmy added cheerfully, interrupting Craig before he could start monologuing with a monotone, fiery passion. Craig let out an unhappy grunt and turned his attention to his chicken nuggets with a huff. Tweek elbowed him in the ribs. Kenny was grinning like an absolute fool, Clyde unable to help his own matching smirk.

“Anywayyyyy,” Kenny said in a sing-song. “How’s everybody else, now that it’s confirmed Craig’s still a grump?” He got a couple of vague but positive answers from Jimmy, Token, Kevin, and Francis, then expectantly turned his full, rapt attention to Clyde, who promptly swallowed in nervousness and ended up choking on a French fry like a moron.

“I’m fine,” he rasped, taking a swig of chocolate milk with a faint grimace. “I just saw you this weekend, you dork.” Kenny pooched his bottom lip and batted his lashes, and Clyde froze at the weird, fluttery sensation that came from his belly at the gesture. 

“So nothing exciting happened Sunday, then? Besides Mr. D adding to his recipe rotation, I mean. No craziness?” Kenny asked with a slightly self-deprecating smile. 

“No, no,” Clyde said hastily, cheeks slightly red as he remembered his incensed googling. Yikes.

“... You sure about that, buddy? That’s a guilty face if I’ve ever seen one,” Kenny noted, eyes twinkling with mischief as Clyde physically felt his cheeks flush even more.

“Nothing,” Clyde insisted vehemently, completely, totally mortified. “Nothing at all. Very boring. Spent the whole day in bed, really.”

_ “Oh,”  _ Kenny hummed, smirk widening. “That kinda day, huh? Good wankfest Sunday. I approve.”

“N-no, oh my god,” Clyde groaned, briefly hiding his face in his palms with a humiliated, frustrated whine. “Ken, you fuckface, no. I was tired. Did some homework. Nothing wild, my god. We’re not all chronic masturbators like you.” He wasn’t hungry anymore, and silently, absently pushed his tray over to Kenny, who’d finished his sandwich and eagerly began to eat Clyde’s leftovers. 

“One, I can’t actually be classified as chronic, two, fuck you, three, actually, thanks,” Kenny hummed, shoving a spoonful of pudding in his mouth with a happy hum. Clyde shrugged; he was always willing to give Kenny his extra food. He’d always pay when they went out to eat too. Kenny used to insist he was fine, and quietly count out exact change for his plate of fries and water, or single taco, or two dollar kid’s cheeseburger. Clyde had cottoned on after a few visits and started “over ordering” with the sole intention of feeding his friend. Kenny had been suspicious after the third time, insisting he wasn’t a charity case.

Eventually, awkwardly, they’d reached a mutual agreement on it. Clyde promised him it  _ wasn’t  _ charity, he just enjoyed being nice to people he liked, and convinced Kenny he could take any leftovers to Karen, and Kenny promised to stop being so fucking weird about accepting kindness from his own fucking friends. He could be a stubborn, hot-headed little fucker sometimes. Clyde recalled the absolute shock he’d felt when Kenny had whipped his hood off and let out quite a few choice words about not needing pity. Luckily they were a couple years past that now. 

“I’ve got a pack of those cheese crackers in my backpack too,” Clyde yawned, grateful the introduction of food had brought the focus off of why he was blushing. “I don’t like the Parmesan flavor and Dad hated it too, so go nuts, yeah?” he hummed, turning his attention to his phone. Kenny nudged his shoulder and he looked up with a distracted hum, blinking owlishly. 

“Thank you,” Kenny said sincerely, a bit of a shy grin spreading bashfully across his face. Clyde’s heart stuttered oddly and he managed a grunt of acknowledgement, immediately turning his attention back to his screen in a hurry. There was absolutely no need to blush either, and he was beyond grateful he didn’t. Jesus. 

“It’s nothing. Feel free to put them in your locker on our way to English, I’ll come with you so you don’t have to carry around the package like an idiot, yeah?” Clyde offered, practically mumbling into his phone, slightly flustered. Kenny made a noise of agreement and then kept eating the rest of Clyde’s lunch, striking up a conversation with Tweek. Clyde sighed, relaxing slightly as he was allowed to just chill for five minutes, Kenny’s attention occupied elsewhere. 

The lunch bell rang, signifying five minutes to get to class, and Clyde hung back with Kenny by the trash cans at the inevitable swarm of teenagers. After a moment, it was clear enough to escape, and they walked together to Kenny’s locker, which was, thankfully, just a few doors down from where they had English. He turned so Kenny could get into his backpack, which was slung comfortably over his shoulders. Clyde waited patiently as Kenny fumbled the zipper open and pulled out the cracker package, sticking it in his locker, which Clyde had helpfully opened for him. They’d had each other’s lock combos since the first week of school.

“All good?” Clyde asked. Kenny slammed the door shut and zipped Clyde’s backpack up again.

“All good. Let’s go,” he hummed, smiling as they quickly set off for English. They walked closer than a lot of boys their age did, but that was because Clyde was a tactile fuck and Kenny thrived on physical contact. Both of their separate friend groups just had to deal with a lot of clinging, light, probably unnecessary hand brushes, and cuddle piles. When Kenny and Clyde were together, they were unabashedly touchy.

Hand grabbing, leading with a grip on the wrist or waist, shoulder bumping, snuggling up under each other’s arm, head butts, big, rib-cracking bear hugs from Clyde and abrupt, surprise attack piggy back rides as Kenny launched himself onto Clyde’s shoulders. They often napped snuggled together, and would have no problem curling up like puppies on the bus together for field trips or even in class. Cartman used to make fun of them, but then Kenny must’ve blackmailed him and he shut up. It was just. Normal now. Clyde loved being such good friends with somebody who craved touch as much as he did. Craig wasn’t usually one for a whole lot of physical intimacy with anybody but Tweek (although he  _ had  _ gotten better over the years), but with Kenny Clyde knew he was allowed to get as touchy as he wanted.

Today was no different: Kenny started it by hip-checking him, and Clyde retaliated by slinging his arm over his shoulders and tugging him so hard Kenny went off balance and staggered into Clyde. It inevitably ended in them scuffling right outside Ms. Thomas’ room, most of the class already seated, watching in idle amusement as they tussled energetically right into the lockers. Clyde finally gave in as Kenny shoved him off and then almost full body tackled him to the floor, both of them grunting at the rough impact. Ms. Thomas cleared her throat pointedly. Huffing and a bit sweaty, Clyde gave Kenny a final huge hug, so big he could feel him wince, then scrambled to his feet with Kenny following.

“Sorry,” Kenny charmed Ms. Thomas with his typical gap-toothed smile, hands clasped behind his back. “Boys will be boys, right?” Clyde snorted as he made his way to his desk, laughing as the teacher simply shook her head and sighed, dismissing them. Kenny took his seat by Clyde, and they exchanged a discreet high five, exchanging grins. 

“If everybody’s quite finished,” started Ms. Thomas with a stern look aimed their way. “We’ll be analyzing a poem from the seventeenth century. Andrew Marvel, one of the metaphysical poets from that time period, and his piece  _ To His Coy Mistress.  _ Take a pamphlet and pass it back,” she ordered, passing out papers and watching as they followed directions. “Read the poem and write down what you think he’s trying to say. We’ll go over it thirty minutes before class is over. Feel free to grab a partner to try and work through it.” Then they were dismissed.

Clyde sighed; he wasn’t particularly good in English. Never had been. Kenny was significantly better in that regard, but Kenny also read a lot. Hell, Clyde had gotten him an ereader for Christmas last year and he’d actually been excited at the gift instead of put out. Nerd. Luckily, Kenny was always happy to partner up with him even though he usually contributed nothing worthwhile to the group dynamic. It worked out, since they also had Gym and History together, and he was decent at history, whereas Kenny couldn’t seem to summon the energy to care very much about a bunch of dead people. 

They scooted their desks closer and Clyde passed Kenny a pencil absentmindedly; Kenny barely had money for food sometimes, let alone school supplies. It used to be he’d swindle or outright steal, but most of Kenny’s friends had wised up and just started giving him things he’d need. Clyde started reading over the poem boredly, sighing and doodling a tiny bumble bee on the corner of his paper. Kenny actually underlined and wrote out notes like the good student he was.

“So, what? Another dumb love poem?” Clyde sighed, resting his chin in his hand and grumbling. “I hate this, I really do.”

“Actually, this poem is a brazen invitation and plea to fuck,” Kenny hummed, glancing up to grin at Clyde’s bewilderment. “The modern-day equivalent would probably be a dick pic with a few hearts and a ‘we’re gonna die young, let’s bang while we can’, honestly.”

“No,” Clyde gasped, looking back down at the poem with wide eyes. “You’re joking!” He scammed the words with a fresh perspective, brows furrowed as Kenny smirked. After another run through, Clyde had to admit there was some… truth to that interpretation. “Holy shit. That’s, uh. Interesting.” He shook his head and started to fill out his worksheet with Kenny, able to add some of his own commentary and food for thought now that he had been clued in to the true meaning of the poem.

“So his reference to vegetable love… he’s literally talking about his dick,” Clyde muttered dubiously, Kenny making an excited noise of agreement.

“Without a doubt, dude. He’s even saying it’s big, what a fucking charmer,” Kenny said, a slight scoff behind the words. “You’d think he’d have a little more finesse! Seduction is a fine, fine art, Clyde.” He tapped his pencil in vague annoyance. “You gotta know exactly what you’re doing, and lure them in slowly but surely, and then once they come to you, you know you’ve done it. This poem is the exact opposite of subtlety and I sincerely hope this shithead didn’t get his cock wet, fuckin’ prick.”

“I just never thought I’d be reading about some horny guy who died over centuries ago,” Clyde sighed. Lately everything was about sex, and he had to admit a lot of that had been his own damn fault. Well, Kenny’s, first, for planting this idea about prostate play in his impressionable, dumb brain, but he was the one who kept returning to it. For Christ’s sake, he was planning on going to get a vibrator in just a few hours time now.

Clyde gave a slightly humiliated squirm at the thought, belly flipping nervously. He shook his head wordlessly and was glad as they got through the rest of the worksheet quickly, happy to turn it in and zone out until the period ended. In fact, Clyde had just settled down to do that, earbuds in and everything, when Kenny gently nudged him out of his stupor. 

“Yeah?” he hummed, tugging his headphones out and looking at Kenny expectantly, who couldn’t help a sheepish smile in return.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb ya— are you busy this weekend?” Kenny asked him. Clyde briefly thought ahead: besides the, uh, prostate plan, he had nothing going on.

“Nah, why?” he answered, tilting his head slightly.

“Stan’s thinking of throwing a party on Saturday, you interested in coming?” Kenny offered, glancing down at his phone. “I’m not usually allowed to invite anybody from your crew because of Craig, which is shitty since Tweek is tight with them, but he’s feeling chill this week.” He shrugged, glancing up with a faint grin. “Totally up to you though.”

Clyde was initially shocked; they really often weren’t invited to most parties held by either Stan or Kyle, thanks to Craig’s asshole mouth. This was a real surprise, and a good one, for once. 

“Love to, dude. You know I’m always down to fucking party,” he said, laughing as Kenny beamed at him and gave him a shoulder nudge. 

“Good. I’ll let you know when I get the details.” Kenny assured him idly, turning his attention back to his phone. Clyde mmed his agreement and plugged his headphones back into his ears, and they sat in companionable silence until the bell rang. Clyde stood up, offered Kenny a clap on the shoulder as a goodbye, and headed for his next class, not noticing Kenny’s lingering stare.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://craigtherewhoisahomosexual.tumblr.com/)  
>  to come screech at me if you wish, fuck idk. gimme hcs and stuff you wouldn't mind seeing. thank. i will finish this, i will,,, i'm just lazy n distracted yell at me
> 
> also this whole fic is for mara n mara’s Fault bc of [this](https://broskibroflovski.tumblr.com/post/171319045212/kenny-stop-that-youre-making-clyde-remember-a-lot)  
> 


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